Red Velvet
by Xenya Onatopp
Summary: There was no savage other in her life that took her down. It was simple. Casey Novak was her own murderer. DISCONTINUED.
1. prologue

Casey Novak is pale and rotted from the inside, out.

She's angry.

She's (a little?) lost.

And she's bleeding.

She has nothing to show for her progress over the months but a lapse of control. One massive effort of nothing. Utter shit. Twenty-nine years of climbing and seven months of failure doesn't really seem worth it to her anymore. So she sits there on the edge of her mattress with blood-stained skin, runs her fingers through her hair, and pulls.

She'd like to feel something – anything – that hurts to fill in the empty spaces. Never mind her anger, it's subsiding. And it's now that she realizes what she's done, that she has no fucking clue what to do.

She can feel black crowding around her and it absolutely terrifies her. She panics, but not in the same way she had done prior to her loss of life in progress. This time around, she can feel it escaping from her lesions. But,

she doesn't want to die.

* * *

an: old story, modified. show your liking/hatred of this prologue via reviews? chapter one will be posted soon.


	2. Chapter One

**an**: So, here's a filler chapter. I own nothing, no one, and I have no beta. Read away!

* * *

Who the hell does he think he is? She is not a play thing. No sir, she's not his booty-call and she will not drop to her knees at his say so, not if he's only going to drop her completely. She knows she's been used, and that had been okay in the past because she was using him as well. She had believed it to be that simple up until this point.

Now, she knows better. He only comes around when he's tired of his wife. And she's got half a mind to tell his wife that her husband is a two-timing bastard.

"Knock knock,"

Casey looks up to see her former lover's partner at her office door, leaning in. Olivia has timing, that's for sure, but she can't decide if it's good or bad. She likes to show up at what seems like random to pull Casey from her own mind.

Perhaps it's a good thing. Her mind is somewhat occupied with exaggerated anger and destruction.

"Hey. What's up?"

"I brought over those DD-5's you wanted." Olivia says, handing over the details of their previous case. Rather than leaving, she takes a seat.

"Thanks… Is there anything else?" Casey asks. She's slightly confused at the odd smirk the detective can't seem to hide.

"I want to know what's – or rather, who's – been keeping you so damn busy. So much so, I feel like I haven't actually seen you at all outside of work for weeks."

"As opposed to our nightly slumber parties filled with girl-talk and pillow fights?" She toys. "Are you suffering from separation anxiety?"

Olivia only rolls her eyes.

"What makes you think I'm seeing someone, anyway? I could just as easily be trying to catch up on sleep."

"I was just hoping you kind of found someone. I need to live vicariously through the younger."

Casey sighs in response, causing Olivia to lean forward in her seat.

"There is someone, isn't there?" The detective doesn't pry anymore for Casey isn't too pleased about the subject. Her curiosity can get the best of her, and when caught, she'll blame the cop in her.

"Was. He's married." Casey leans back. "It's done and over with now."

Olivia isn't sure what to think. She'd never have pegged Casey to be someone's mistress, nor did she believe it was possible for this woman to be even slightly upset about it. To be honest, she had never been able to picture Casey with anyone at all. And she'd like to offer advice but she doesn't know what it's like to be in such a situation, so she says nothing.

The detective has her morals, and this isn't something she'd fool around with. She knows Casey has her integrity intact, but being so loose? Well, she wouldn't be able to do it.

But, it's true. Casey Novak had been fooling around with some else's husband, and Elliot Stabler had been cheating.

* * *

Home, finally.

Her house smells of perfume and cigarettes. It's most likely the only trace of herself she's left in the place. Everything is still so white and new, as if in the two years she's lived in this house, everything is still untouched. She likes it this way. It's clean and neat, which in turn, allows her to feel the same.

But tonight, it's empty.

And she can't say she likes it this way.

She decides brooding over something bitter in a smoky bar is a good way to rid herself of this nagging feeling she has in her chest. If she could, she'd kick Elliot straight in the member. Never mind what hangs from it. She wants to hit the one good thing about him. Once his ego is destroyed Elliot Stabler would be, no more.

This is only something she toys around with in her mind, but if given the chance, she can't say she'd refuse.

Enough of him, though. She's had it with him.

And so she wears a flattering dress, one that's short and black with heels because halfway down the hallway to her bedroom, she decides she wants attention. She wants to be noticed and she wants a good time, no significant other attached.

Just her, a stranger, and a sturdy bed.

Ignore the "good" and "bad" of the situation. It isn't a part of the equation.


	3. Chapter Two

an: two chapters because the last one wasn't even a good filler. also, fuck is a word that can fucking be placed in fucking front of any fucking word and fucking still make fucking sense. yes, that means I used the "f" word a lot in this one.

* * *

In a bar filled with drunks, college kids, and the occasional suit and tie, Casey is ready to lose her mind. That is, until she has a beer and then a free round of shots with the stranger she's been looking for. She's wrecked and he's only tipsy, so he offers her a ride home in his '79 Camaro.

He's an even six feet with sandy hair and eyes she can't really remember the color of. He has a thick frame with barely-there muscles and she's starting to find him a little repulsive. She can't smell past the liquor on her breath and he's a little thankful. She doesn't seem like the type who would appreciate the smell of Chronic.

She invites him in,

she leads him up the front porch,

he shuts the door behind him.

Casey can't explain the feeling she has, just that it makes her sick and that that's not enough to make any sense to her, at least not right now. She isn't sure what to do, and he can sense it.

"What's the matter?" He asks. "Not sure about this?" His words could be polite, if they weren't so condescending.

She nods her head with a nervous smile, and he steps closer.

"Well, I'm already here," He starts, moving close enough for her to inhale him. He trails a finger down her neck and then a hand to her chest. "I know I'm not the only one growing impatient here…" He slips a hand up her dress as he trails off.

She wants to quietly protest, tell him she doesn't want to go through with it anymore, but her back is met with the edge of her kitchen counter. He's cornered her. She tries to comply, because this can not turn into rape. All she will allow this to be is a terrible, drunken mistake.

But he slips a finger into her and then another, trying to kiss her as he attempts to pleasure her.

He's a fucking moron. Can't he feel her trying sink into the counter? She does not want this. She feels him hard against her and it isn't long before he's eager to expose himself.

She wants to cry, but to do so would only mean she is weak.

And this is when she puts her foot down.

"Just stop, stop right now." She wants to call him by his name, but she can't remember what the hell it is.

"Why? Something wrong?" He seems concerned, but she knows his concern is directed toward his erection and not her well-being.

"I think you should leave."

He doesn't back away. "But we're just getting started."

"No, we're done. You need to go." Her voice is firm, as is the shove she manages. But the palm of his hand against her cheek is stronger, and so is the grasp he has on her wrists.

"I'm not going anywhere. You don't get to lead me on, and then kick me out. It doesn't fucking work that way." He shakes her as he speaks.

Casey is terrified. And when he pulls himself out, trying to maneuver himself around her underwear, she panics. He's about to gain access she never gave.

She swings a right hook, and the blow to his eye is enough to distract him for a moment. He doesn't leave like she had hoped, but instead wraps his hand around her neck, squeezing lightly. He likes the horror plastered across her face.

As she continues to fight him off, he begins to squeeze harder and harder. He pushes her on her back, and she pulls a butcher's knife from behind them. The second she grips it, it's against his neck. He lets go of her and puts his hands up in surrender.

"Alright, just take it easy. Just set the knife down. I'll leave, okay? Just put it down."

What kind of fool does he take her for?

"Get the fuck out of my house before I slice you ear to ear," Her voice is steady, as is her hand.

He isn't about to risk anything for some barrel of crazy he picked up at a bar, and so he begins to back away. Of course she won't trust him to see himself out; she has the knife to his throat all the way out the door.

Only after Casey sees him back out of her driveway does she double-latch every door and window in her home.

* * *

She doesn't call anyone. She does nothing for… she doesn't know the time, she doesn't keep track, and some time after that she showers until her skin is raw.

She knows what she is supposed to do, and she knows that she won't do it. She decides she is absolutely not a damsel in distress, and that she can handle her own. She isn't a victim, not of anything. She tells herself this as she falls into a routine of hot showers and insomnia, of headaches and anger and helplessness.

Despite her fingers reaching for the phone, she again calls no one. Things like this don't happen to people like her. And yet, they do.


	4. Chapter Three

**an**: Aaaand introducing, the pretty Alex Cabot! Have at it, folks. Thanks for reading/reviewing.

* * *

She'd love for her brain to shut down but she has no off switch. And the odds of a galactic black hole inhaling her into a mass amount of nothingness are nonexistent, she figures. Perhaps she'd have a better chance of being submerged into a lake of radio active waste. Screw graceful, she wants memorable.

Suicide is generally the way to achieve such a status, especially with her brilliant, not-so-laid-out plans. She's tempted to write her article, because she won't have an obituary. Death by radiation is far too big to not have its own page, preferably above the fold.

This feeling that creeps over her skin doesn't want to end, but she can't help forcing the thought of this being nothing more than a setback. She doesn't have time for anything else.

The manila folder's insides lay across her desk, and she's barely able to handle it. A thirteen year old victim, raped and murdered by a coke peddler. He didn't have to cut her the way he did, nor did he have to burn her hands. It was pointless – she was identified anyway, and so was he. But her evidence against the defendant translates to nothing in the end.

So she sits stiffly, gives an attempt at composure. She is pulled from her herself when the words hit her ears.

"Hope you don't mind a little collaboration, Novak." The words crawl from Alexandra Cabot's carefully worded mouth as she rides up to Casey's office, tall and mighty on her high-horse. Some nerve, considering she's only just made her way out of White Collar. She's not exactly in a prestigious position as the assistant of the Sex Crimes ADA.

She finds it funny that she, considering all technicalities, is the temporary boss of the woman she had been sent in to replace. She can't say she isn't shocked.

* * *

Alex has undoubtedly made herself at home. She can't help in doing so, this had been her home at one point. She's quite familiar with her surroundings, save for a few personal items of Casey's strewn about the office. She's been watching the woman for the past several minutes, trying to figure her out. She hasn't been even remotely successful in knowing her anymore than she did last week.

In fact, it seems the redhead has been doing just about everything possible to avoid anything personal coming up. And in return, Alex's curiosity has only skyrocketed. One thing she is certain of, though, is that the other woman has certainly been turning a cold shoulder to her.

"Alright Casey," Alex begins, causing her to look up. "you have a problem with me, I get that much." The woman's direct approach catches Casey off-guard, and she sinks into her chair some. Has she been _that_ juvenile? "What I don't get is why."

She sighs, sits up straight. "I apologize if I've made you feel that way, don't take it personally. It's not _you_ I have a problem with, just your intentions."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh don't act so clueless, Cabot. It's not a good look for you." Casey scolds. "I know you offered to have a part in this little play here, McCoy hadn't requested you. If you think you can weasel your way back into this unit-"

Alex cuts her off. "Casey, I'm not after your job. Knock the defense a little, will you? I had information on your suspect and was in a position to help, that's all there is to it." She insists and is rather convincing to the other woman, who has relaxed enough to give an apologetic smile.

* * *

Casey finds herself sitting across from Alex in a darkened tavern, and she can't help but raise her guard a few notches. She's intimidated by this woman, though she isn't sure why. She's set in her work shoes, and she can't take that away from her.

Alex watches her companion fiddle with her coaster, absentmindedly taking sips of her beer here and there, and wonders if she even knows where she is at this point. She's too lost in her head for Alex's liking.

"You're definitely something different, Novak."

Casey flicks a brow up, confused as to why she should be the target of conversation.

"I don't mean anything by that," Alex apologizes. "It's just that, in the short time that I've known you, you've been able to really get under my skin." And it's true. This woman she had expected to be warm and welcoming is in fact the opposite.

The first time she had met Casey Novak, it was under professional circumstances and the vibe she got was one of familiarity – two people who knew the insides of the legal structure like the backs of their hands. But it seems that now, years later, things have all but been familiar, including her new found interest in the other woman. Though, the off-beat ways of A.D.A. Novak are just as prominent as they once were. That much hasn't changed.

"Wow. You're a real charmer, aren't you?"

"And I'm pretty sure you're doing it on purpose." She adds, dismissing Casey's remark. "Remember who you're messing with, Casey. I actually do bite."

"Is that a threat?" Casey asks, desperate to contain her growing smirk. She isn't sure whether the alcohol is loosening them up a little, or if her associate is genuinely flirting with her. Probably the former – she can't picture Alex Cabot swaying in her direction. She can't even picture herself swaying in such a direction.

"Maybe. It all depends on what I think I can get from you."

Then again, Casey Novak has been wrong plenty.


End file.
